第 九 章 · 第9章

A Break in the Chain

It was late in the afternoon before I woke, strengthened and refreshed.

Sherlock Holmes still sat exactly as I had left him, save that he had

laid aside his violin and was deep in a book. He looked across at me,

as I stirred, and I noticed that his face was dark and troubled.

“You have slept soundly,” he said. “I feared that our talk would wake

you.”

“I heard nothing,” I answered. “Have you had fresh news, then?”

“Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised and disappointed. I

expected something definite by this time. Wiggins has just been up to

report. He says that no trace can be found of the launch. It is a

provoking check, for every hour is of importance.”

“Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now, and quite ready for

another night’s outing.”

“No, we can do nothing. We can only wait. If we go ourselves, the

message might come in our absence, and delay be caused. You can do what

you will, but I must remain on guard.”

“Then I shall run over to Camberwell and call upon Mrs. Cecil

Forrester. She asked me to, yesterday.”

“On Mrs. Cecil Forrester?” asked Holmes, with the twinkle of a smile in

his eyes.

“Well, of course Miss Morstan too. They were anxious to hear what

happened.”

“I would not tell them too much,” said Holmes. “Women are never to be

entirely trusted,—not the best of them.”

I did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment. “I shall be

back in an hour or two,” I remarked.

“All right! Good luck! But, I say, if you are crossing the river you

may as well return Toby, for I don’t think it is at all likely that we

shall have any use for him now.”

I took our mongrel accordingly, and left him, together with a

half-sovereign, at the old naturalist’s in Pinchin Lane. At Camberwell

I found Miss Morstan a little weary after her night’s adventures, but

very eager to hear the news. Mrs. Forrester, too, was full of

curiosity. I told them all that we had done, suppressing, however, the

more dreadful parts of the tragedy. Thus, although I spoke of Mr.

Sholto’s death, I said nothing of the exact manner and method of it.

With all my omissions, however, there was enough to startle and amaze

them.

“It is a romance!” cried Mrs. Forrester. “An injured lady, half a

million in treasure, a black cannibal, and a wooden-legged ruffian.

They take the place of the conventional dragon or wicked earl.”

“And two knight-errants to the rescue,” added Miss Morstan, with a

bright glance at me.

“Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the issue of this search. I don’t

think that you are nearly excited enough. Just imagine what it must be

to be so rich, and to have the world at your feet!”

It sent a little thrill of joy to my heart to notice that she showed no

sign of elation at the prospect. On the contrary, she gave a toss of

her proud head, as though the matter were one in which she took small

interest.

“It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious,” she said. “Nothing

else is of any consequence; but I think that he has behaved most kindly

and honourably throughout. It is our duty to clear him of this dreadful

and unfounded charge.”

It was evening before I left Camberwell, and quite dark by the time I

reached home. My companion’s book and pipe lay by his chair, but he had

disappeared. I looked about in the hope of seeing a note, but there was

none.

“I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone out,” I said to Mrs.

Hudson as she came up to lower the blinds.

“No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do you know, sir,” sinking her

voice into an impressive whisper, “I am afraid for his health?”

“Why so, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Well, he’s that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and he

walked, up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of the sound of

his footstep. Then I heard him talking to himself and muttering, and

every time the bell rang out he came on the stairhead, with ‘What is

that, Mrs. Hudson?’ And now he has slammed off to his room, but I can

hear him walking away the same as ever. I hope he’s not going to be

ill, sir. I ventured to say something to him about cooling medicine,

but he turned on me, sir, with such a look that I don’t know how ever I

got out of the room.”

“I don’t think that you have any cause to be uneasy, Mrs. Hudson,” I

answered. “I have seen him like this before. He has some small matter

upon his mind which makes him restless.” I tried to speak lightly to

our worthy landlady, but I was myself somewhat uneasy when through the

long night I still from time to time heard the dull sound of his tread,

and knew how his keen spirit was chafing against this involuntary

inaction.

At breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a little fleck of

feverish colour upon either cheek.

“You are knocking yourself up, old man,” I remarked. “I heard you

marching about in the night.”

“No, I could not sleep,” he answered. “This infernal problem is

consuming me. It is too much to be balked by so petty an obstacle, when

all else had been overcome. I know the men, the launch, everything; and

yet I can get no news. I have set other agencies at work, and used

every means at my disposal. The whole river has been searched on either

side, but there is no news, nor has Mrs. Smith heard of her husband. I

shall come to the conclusion soon that they have scuttled the craft.

But there are objections to that.”

“Or that Mrs. Smith has put us on a wrong scent.”

“No, I think that may be dismissed. I had inquiries made, and there is

a launch of that description.”

“Could it have gone up the river?”

“I have considered that possibility too, and there is a search-party

who will work up as far as Richmond. If no news comes to-day, I shall

start off myself to-morrow, and go for the men rather than the boat.

But surely, surely, we shall hear something.”

We did not, however. Not a word came to us either from Wiggins or from

the other agencies. There were articles in most of the papers upon the

Norwood tragedy. They all appeared to be rather hostile to the

unfortunate Thaddeus Sholto. No fresh details were to be found,

however, in any of them, save that an inquest was to be held upon the

following day. I walked over to Camberwell in the evening to report our

ill success to the ladies, and on my return I found Holmes dejected and

somewhat morose. He would hardly reply to my questions, and busied

himself all evening in an abstruse chemical analysis which involved

much heating of retorts and distilling of vapours, ending at last in a

smell which fairly drove me out of the apartment. Up to the small hours

of the morning I could hear the clinking of his test-tubes which told

me that he was still engaged in his malodorous experiment.

In the early dawn I woke with a start, and was surprised to find him

standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress with a pea-jacket,

and a coarse red scarf round his neck.

“I am off down the river, Watson,” said he. “I have been turning it

over in my mind, and I can see only one way out of it. It is worth

trying, at all events.”

“Surely I can come with you, then?” said I.

“No; you can be much more useful if you will remain here as my

representative. I am loath to go, for it is quite on the cards that

some message may come during the day, though Wiggins was despondent

about it last night. I want you to open all notes and telegrams, and to

act on your own judgment if any news should come. Can I rely upon you?”

“Most certainly.”

“I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me, for I can hardly

tell yet where I may find myself. If I am in luck, however, I may not

be gone so very long. I shall have news of some sort or other before I

get back.”

I had heard nothing of him by breakfast-time. On opening the

_Standard_, however, I found that there was a fresh allusion to the

business. “With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy,” it remarked,

“we have reason to believe that the matter promises to be even more

complex and mysterious than was originally supposed. Fresh evidence has

shown that it is quite impossible that Mr. Thaddeus Sholto could have

been in any way concerned in the matter. He and the housekeeper, Mrs.

Bernstone, were both released yesterday evening. It is believed,

however, that the police have a clue as to the real culprits, and that

it is being prosecuted by Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard, with

all his well-known energy and sagacity. Further arrests may be expected

at any moment.”

“That is satisfactory so far as it goes,” thought I. “Friend Sholto is

safe, at any rate. I wonder what the fresh clue may be; though it seems

to be a stereotyped form whenever the police have made a blunder.”

I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment my eye

caught an advertisement in the agony column. It ran in this way:

“Lost.—Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son, Jim, left Smith’s

Wharf at or about three o’clock last Tuesday morning in the steam

launch _Aurora_, black with two red stripes, funnel black with a white

band, the sum of five pounds will be paid to any one who can give

information to Mrs. Smith, at Smith’s Wharf, or at 221_b_ Baker Street,

as to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith and the launch

_Aurora_.”

This was clearly Holmes’s doing. The Baker Street address was enough to

prove that. It struck me as rather ingenious, because it might be read

by the fugitives without their seeing in it more than the natural

anxiety of a wife for her missing husband.

It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the door, or a sharp

step passed in the street, I imagined that it was either Holmes

returning or an answer to his advertisement. I tried to read, but my

thoughts would wander off to our strange quest and to the ill-assorted

and villainous pair whom we were pursuing. Could there be, I wondered,

some radical flaw in my companion’s reasoning. Might he be suffering

from some huge self-deception? Was it not possible that his nimble and

speculative mind had built up this wild theory upon faulty premises? I

had never known him to be wrong; and yet the keenest reasoner may

occasionally be deceived. He was likely, I thought, to fall into error

through the over-refinement of his logic,—his preference for a subtle

and bizarre explanation when a plainer and more commonplace one lay

ready to his hand. Yet, on the other hand, I had myself seen the

evidence, and I had heard the reasons for his deductions. When I looked

back on the long chain of curious circumstances, many of them trivial

in themselves, but all tending in the same direction, I could not

disguise from myself that even if Holmes’s explanation were incorrect

the true theory must be equally _outré_ and startling.

At three o’clock in the afternoon there was a loud peal at the bell, an

authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no less a person

than Mr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Very different was he,

however, from the brusque and masterful professor of common sense who

had taken over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood. His expression

was downcast, and his bearing meek and even apologetic.

“Good-day, sir; good-day,” said he. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes is out, I

understand.”

“Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But perhaps you would

care to wait. Take that chair and try one of these cigars.”

“Thank you; I don’t mind if I do,” said he, mopping his face with a red

bandanna handkerchief.

“And a whiskey-and-soda?”

“Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year; and I have

had a good deal to worry and try me. You know my theory about this

Norwood case?”

“I remember that you expressed one.”

“Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my net drawn tightly

round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole in the middle of

it. He was able to prove an alibi which could not be shaken. From the

time that he left his brother’s room he was never out of sight of some

one or other. So it could not be he who climbed over roofs and through

trap-doors. It’s a very dark case, and my professional credit is at

stake. I should be very glad of a little assistance.”

“We all need help sometimes,” said I.

“Your friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes is a wonderful man, sir,” said he, in

a husky and confidential voice. “He’s a man who is not to be beat. I

have known that young man go into a good many cases, but I never saw

the case yet that he could not throw a light upon. He is irregular in

his methods, and a little quick perhaps in jumping at theories, but, on

the whole, I think he would have made a most promising officer, and I

don’t care who knows it. I have had a wire from him this morning, by

which I understand that he has got some clue to this Sholto business.

Here is the message.”

He took the telegram out of his pocket, and handed it to me. It was

dated from Poplar at twelve o’clock. “Go to Baker Street at once,” it

said. “If I have not returned, wait for me. I am close on the track of

the Sholto gang. You can come with us to-night if you want to be in at

the finish.”

“This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent again,” said I.

“Ah, then he has been at fault too,” exclaimed Jones, with evident

satisfaction. “Even the best of us are thrown off sometimes. Of course

this may prove to be a false alarm; but it is my duty as an officer of

the law to allow no chance to slip. But there is some one at the door.

Perhaps this is he.”

A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great wheezing and

rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for breath. Once or

twice he stopped, as though the climb were too much for him, but at

last he made his way to our door and entered. His appearance

corresponded to the sounds which we had heard. He was an aged man, clad

in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his throat.

His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and his breathing was

painfully asthmatic. As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his

shoulders heaved in the effort to draw the air into his lungs. He had a

coloured scarf round his chin, and I could see little of his face save

a pair of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows, and long grey

side-whiskers. Altogether he gave me the impression of a respectable

master mariner who had fallen into years and poverty.

“What is it, my man?” I asked.

He looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age.

“Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?” said he.

“No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any message you have for

him.”

“It was to him himself I was to tell it,” said he.

“But I tell you that I am acting for him. Was it about Mordecai Smith’s

boat?”

“Yes. I knows well where it is. An’ I knows where the men he is after

are. An’ I knows where the treasure is. I knows all about it.”

“Then tell me, and I shall let him know.”

“It was to him I was to tell it,” he repeated, with the petulant

obstinacy of a very old man.

“Well, you must wait for him.”

“No, no; I ain’t goin’ to lose a whole day to please no one. If Mr.

Holmes ain’t here, then Mr. Holmes must find it all out for himself. I

don’t care about the look of either of you, and I won’t tell a word.”

He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front of him.

“Wait a bit, my friend,” said he. “You have important information, and

you must not walk off. We shall keep you, whether you like or not,

until our friend returns.”

The old man made a little run towards the door, but, as Athelney Jones

put his broad back up against it, he recognised the uselessness of

resistance.

“Pretty sort o’ treatment this!” he cried, stamping his stick. “I come

here to see a gentleman, and you two, who I never saw in my life, seize

me and treat me in this fashion!”

“You will be none the worse,” I said. “We shall recompense you for the

loss of your time. Sit over here on the sofa, and you will not have

long to wait.”

He came across sullenly enough, and seated himself with his face

resting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our cigars and our talk.

Suddenly, however, Holmes’s voice broke in upon us.

“I think that you might offer me a cigar too,” he said.

We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting close to us

with an air of quiet amusement.

“Holmes!” I exclaimed. “You here! But where is the old man?”

“Here is the old man,” said he, holding out a heap of white hair. “Here

he is,—wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought my disguise was

pretty good, but I hardly expected that it would stand that test.”

“Ah, You rogue!” cried Jones, highly delighted. “You would have made an

actor, and a rare one. You had the proper workhouse cough, and those

weak legs of yours are worth ten pounds a week. I thought I knew the

glint of your eye, though. You didn’t get away from us so easily, You

see.”

“I have been working in that get-up all day,” said he, lighting his

cigar. “You see, a good many of the criminal classes begin to know

me,—especially since our friend here took to publishing some of my

cases: so I can only go on the war-path under some simple disguise like

this. You got my wire?”

“Yes; that was what brought me here.”

“How has your case prospered?”

“It has all come to nothing. I have had to release two of my prisoners,

and there is no evidence against the other two.”

“Never mind. We shall give you two others in the place of them. But you

must put yourself under my orders. You are welcome to all the official

credit, but you must act on the line that I point out. Is that agreed?”

“Entirely, if you will help me to the men.”

“Well, then, in the first place I shall want a fast police-boat—a steam

launch—to be at the Westminster Stairs at seven o’clock.”

“That is easily managed. There is always one about there; but I can

step across the road and telephone to make sure.”

“Then I shall want two stanch men, in case of resistance.”

“There will be two or three in the boat. What else?”

“When we secure the men we shall get the treasure. I think that it

would be a pleasure to my friend here to take the box round to the

young lady to whom half of it rightfully belongs. Let her be the first

to open it.—Eh, Watson?”

“It would be a great pleasure to me.”

“Rather an irregular proceeding,” said Jones, shaking his head.

“However, the whole thing is irregular, and I suppose we must wink at

it. The treasure must afterwards be handed over to the authorities

until after the official investigation.”

“Certainly. That is easily managed. One other point. I should much like

to have a few details about this matter from the lips of Jonathan Small

himself. You know I like to work the detail of my cases out. There is

no objection to my having an unofficial interview with him, either here

in my rooms or elsewhere, as long as he is efficiently guarded?”

“Well, you are master of the situation. I have had no proof yet of the

existence of this Jonathan Small. However, if you can catch him I don’t

see how I can refuse you an interview with him.”

“That is understood, then?”

“Perfectly. Is there anything else?”

“Only that I insist upon your dining with us. It will be ready in half

an hour. I have oysters and a brace of grouse, with something a little

choice in white wines.—Watson, you have never yet recognised my merits

as a housekeeper.”